


i don't mind getting messy with your love

by starrydrowse



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Accidental wetting, Anal Sex, Bedwetting, Bladder Control, Car Wetting, Deliberate Wetting, Dom Roger Taylor, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Feminization, Genderbent!queen, Humiliation kink, Hurt/Comfort, I'm so sorry, Johanna Deacon, Kinda, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Melina Mercury, Multi, Omorashi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Regina Taylor - Freeform, Sub Brian May, Watersports, brianna may - Freeform, fem!queen, golden showers, sorry this is uhhhhhhh..... how you say.......... super gross
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-01-25 09:00:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 17,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21353632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrydrowse/pseuds/starrydrowse
Summary: a collection of short fics and prompt fills, all about piss :^)
Relationships: Brian May/Freddie Mercury, Brian May/Roger Taylor, John Deacon/Brian May/Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor, John Deacon/Roger Taylor
Comments: 62
Kudos: 144





	1. brian

**Author's Note:**

> listen before u judge me please consider,,,,,, i'm disgusting and i know this
> 
> that being said, there there has been a serious lack of piss kink content in this fandom lately and honestly the fact that almost everything that does exist out there is dom!brian is quite frankly a tragedy and it just had to be rectified tbh
> 
> as always, thank you to my sweet friend finn who hypes me up, helps me edit and all around makes me a better writer. in this case they also came up with the idea for this fic with me so thank u so so much finn, ily!! ♡ (check out their [tumblr](https://get-on-your-bikes-and-ride.tumblr.com)/[ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachydeacon/pseuds/peachydeacon)!)
> 
> fic title taken from the song sweet by DNCE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian is a sweetheart and Roger may or may not get off on seeing him lose control.

Brian whimpers and squeezes his eyes closed. The dull ache in his bladder is insistent, bordering on painful, and when Roger’s hand, warm and gentle and heavy, soothes over the small swell of his lower stomach again, Brian has to clench every muscle in his body so he doesn’t lose it. He wishes desperately that he could hold himself, give himself the pressure he needs, but laid out on the bed like this— helpless, spread out for Roger with his wrists and his ankles tied to the bedposts— Brian can’t even press his legs together, can barely even squirm, can’t do anything but tense every single muscle in his body and try his best to hold on for as long as he possibly can.

He’d almost said no, when Roger had asked. He’d been plying him with liquids all day, cup after cup of water (for what reason Brian didn’t know for sure), and when Roger had asked so nicely if he could tie him up, the need was already a dull ache low in Brian’s stomach, not easy to ignore.

“Umm, you can,” he’s answered him hesitantly. “But Rog, I… I have to use the bathroom.” Admitting his need made Brian’s cheeks burn hot and made something embarrassed writhe inside his chest, but Roger had just given him a gentle, almost confused sort of look. 

“I know baby boy…”

It took a minute before it dawned on Brian, that this had been Roger’s plan all along. His cheeks burned even hotter and he’d pressed his legs together, subconsciously.

“Rog, I… I have to go really bad…” he’d whispered, swallowing thickly. “What if I… what if I have an accident?”

There was something playful and mischievous in Roger’s eyes. “I dunno,” he’s told him, smirking. “I guess you'd just better try to hold it.”

And so here Brian is, now— tied up on their bed, his arms and legs spread, Roger at his side with his hand resting warm and heavy on Brian’s bladder. Brian is squirming as best he can, tensing his muscles, trying desperately to hold on while Roger teases him relentlessly, pushes down on his bladder none-too-gently and makes him gasp.

“Are you sure you can hold it love?” Roger’s voice is low but there’s something teasing and mischievous mixed in with the sincerity of it that makes arousal twist low in Brian’s stomach.

His bladder is so full it’s distracting, he can barely think of anything other than his need but he manages to nod, swallowing so hard his throat clicks. “Mhm,” he says, a little breathlessly, his eyes darting over to meet Roger’s. “‘M fine, it’s not that bad yet.”

Roger quirks an eyebrow. His hand is resting flat on Brian’s lower stomach, over the hardness of his bladder, and he watches Brian as he presses the heel of his palm down, none-too-gently. Brian gasps, and he can’t help that he leaks, then— just a little, and only for a second— dripping onto his tummy. Humiliation curls hot inside his chest as Roger laughs, softly. 

“I guess you are gonna have an accident, hmm?” Roger’s voice is light and teasing.

Brian worries his bottom lip and looks up at him desperately, trying to squirm as much as he can with his arms and legs tied. Roger’s hand is heavy on his bladder and Brian leaks again, feels it trail over his side, down onto the white sheets underneath him.

Roger teases him mercilessly; alternating between running his hand over his bladder so gently, almost placating, soothing him with whispers of how pretty he looks like this for just long enough that Brian starts to relax a little, before he pushes down, hard, without warning, makes him leak again and again until Brian can feel the wetness soaking the sheets under him.

“Roger,” he breathes, once it becomes too much, once it feels like any second could be the one he finally loses control and soaks himself, "Rog if you don't stop I… I think I might have an accident…” he admits finally, his cheeks burning red-hot. “I don’t think I can hold it much longer.”

Roger’s hand rubs gently over his lower stomach, makes him whimper. “You poor thing,” he croons, his voice so soft. “Are you going to have an accident darling? I thought you told me you could hold it?”

Brian whines, a high-pitched, embarrassing sort of thing. “I can’t,” he whispers, his voice breaking.

Roger hums.

Blunt nails suddenly drag over the swell of his bladder and Brian’s control slips and this time he’s really not sure he’ll be able to get it back. When he does, he draws in a shaky breath, relieved, but it isn’t long before it happens again.

He’s leaking almost constantly now— a slow, steady stream that he can’t cut off for longer than a second or so no matter how much he tries. His bladder is throbbing under Roger’s hand, that white-hot sort of pain shooting through him as Roger rubs slow circles into his skin and it’s too much, he can’t wait, he really can’t hold it he just _can’t—_

His bladder gives out and Brian whimpers as suddenly he’s pissing himself, warm piss pooling on his stomach, streaming over his sides and seeping into the sheets underneath him. His eyes are hot and he squeezes them shut, can’t bear to look as his bladder empties all over himself and all over the bed. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his cheeks burning. “I’m so sorry Roger, I really tried to hold it b-but I couldn’t, I couldn’t wait I’m so sorry—”

Roger’s voice, soft and gentle, cuts through the fog. “Look at you sweetheart,” he croons, “you’re making such a mess, all over our nice sheets. Oh sweet boy, it’s okay.” Roger’s hand rubs steady circles into his bladder and it only makes Brian go harder; it splashes against his lower stomach, warm and wet, and the sweet feeling of relief is fucking incredible. That hazy sort of tingle starts to spread through his limbs and Brian moans softly in the back of his throat, pries his eyes open to blink up at Roger through the haze. “Accidents happen darling,” Roger coos to him, and the hand that’s not on Brian’s bladder pushes the hair back from his face, “it’s alright. You didn’t mean to make a mess.”

When he’s finally done, Brian feels exhausted and humiliated and better than he has in a long, long time. He’s tied to the bed on the wet sheets and covered in his own piss and and he feels completely boneless, almost fucked out, drained in the best possible way. Something needy and desperate is slowly coming over him and it’s only then that he realizes he’s hard, his cock straining against his tummy. Roger ducks down to kiss him, chaste. 

“Feel better?” he asks, softly, searching Brian’s face. Brian nods slowly, looking up at him with big doe eyes. He swallows, thick.

Roger’s eyes dart down, taking in the sight of him stretched out on the bed like this, wet and tacky with piss, so hard it’s almost painful. Brian can’t help that his chest is heaving just slightly in anticipation, flushed warm and pink all down his face and his neck. Roger grins, something promising and almost dangerous in his eyes.

“Do you want me to touch you?” he asks, and Brian can’t nod fast enough.

“Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have absolutely nothing to say for myself
> 
> comments temporarily cure my depression so if u enjoyed this please consider letting me know!!


	2. brian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie is a bathroom hog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crossposted from my tumblr
> 
> based on this prompt: 
> 
> _i need brian wetting himself bc he’s too shy to knock on the bathroom door and ask freddie to hurry up STAT pls thank u iluuu_

He’s just so shy! He doesn’t want any of them to know he has to go, so he’s just sitting at the kitchen table with John and Roger while they’re having their breakfast, holding himself under the table, pressing his legs together and trying to squirm as subtly as he can. Freddie has been in the bathroom for fucking ages getting ready— he has a whole hair and skin care routine he follows step by step when he showers in the mornings, which means he usually hogs the bathroom for at least an hour. It isn’t usually a problem, but today Brian had woken up late and hadn’t gotten a chance to go pee before Freddie went in.

He _really_ has to go. John and Roger are talking to him like nothing is wrong and he’s trying to hold a normal conversation but he’s so distracted by his need he barely even registers what they’re saying to him. He can feel his control starting to slip and he’s panicking, silently willing Freddie to fucking _hurry up_ because he’s about 5 minutes away from pissing himself all over the kitchen floor. Brian’s cheeks are warm, just from the embarrassment of having to go this badly around Roger and John, and when he finally starts leaking, just a little, his face feels like it’s on fire. It’s not that much, at first, but eventually he can feel his pyjama pants starting to get wet, and he’s panicking. Freddie is still in there and even if he left right this second Brian’s isn’t sure he’d be able to make it to the bathroom without fully wetting himself.

“You alright Brian?” John asks suddenly, sounding concerned. “You’re all red.”

Brian’s wide eyes dart between him and Roger. He nods. “Yeah.”

Roger looks at him skeptically.

Brian swallows. “I just… I have to use the bathroom.”

“I’m sure Freddie’s almost done in there,” John says. Brian whimpers softly as he leaks again. The seat of his pants feels warm and wet and his eyes sting.

Roger eyes him carefully. “You have to go really bad, don’t you Bri?”

Brian feels almost ashamed, something hot curling inside his chest. He nods.

Roger and John exchange a worried look. “Go knock and tell Fred to hurry up,” John says, and Brian shakes his head quickly.

“I don’t want to bother him,” he says quietly.

“Brian, you look like you’re about to piss yourself,” Roger says like it’s obvious, and when Brian doesn’t answer he starts to push his chair back from the table. “I’ll go tell him myself.”

“No!” Brian says quickly, moving as if to stand up and stop him, and then it’s over. He gasps as his control slips and he’s suddenly pissing himself, sitting there in the kitchen chair, his pyjama pants slowly growing warm and wet. Roger looks at him, confused, and Brian blinks back tears, his cheeks burning. “It’s too late,” he whispers.

Roger and John are staring at him in shock, eyes wide, and when Brian hear his piss start to drip onto the kitchen floor, he wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole. It’s almost deafeningly loud, clattering onto the wood floor and making a puddle under his chair, and the worst part is it feels fucking _incredible_— the relief, the warmth, the wetness as he soaks his pyjama pants. Red-hot humiliation curls in his stomach, and Brian hides his face in his hands, willing himself not to cry.

When he’s finally finished, neither John nor Roger seem to have any clue what to say. To make matters worse, not even a moment later Freddie finally chooses to leave the bathroom, opening the door and heading into the bedroom, humming. Brian can’t hold back his tears— if he’d managed to hold it even a minute longer he could have made it.

“Bri…’ John says finally, “It’s alright, it was just an accident.”

It seems to snap Roger out of his trance, and he nods in agreement, saying, “Yeah, it’s okay Brimi. It wasn’t your fault.”

Brian takes his face out of his hands and looks at them both miserably. “I’m sorry,” he whispers tearfully. “I really didn’t mean to.”

“It’s alright,” John says again. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up okay? Rog and I will take care of the mess.”

Brian swallows hard. “Okay,” he says in a small voice.

“Really Bri,” Roger says gently, reaching across the table to take Brian’s hand, squeezing gently. “Don’t worry about it, it was just an accident. Accidents happen.” He smiles at Brian, reassuring.

After a moment, Brian nods, managing a weak smile in return, before he goes to clean up, his wet pants clinging to his legs and his face burning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk about piss w me or request something from me on my [tumblr](https://starrydrowse.tumblr.com/) :)


	3. john

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's zipper is stuck. Roger tries his best to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crossposted from my tumblr
> 
> based on a prompt that just told me to "write about pee" so here we are :^)

John tugs again on his zipper, hard. It still doesn’t budge. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

He can barely even stand still— he’s squirming around, bouncing in place in front of the toilet as he tries desperately to get his trousers down. The zipper is stuck somehow but no matter what he tries he can’t seem to get it, which is kind of a pretty big problem considering he isn’t actually sure how much longer he can hold it. His bladder is a heavy weight in his lower stomach, overfull and aching, and he thanks his lucky stars that the public bathroom he’d found had been a private one— about the size of a broom closet, just a toilet and a sink and an ugly fluorescent light hanging from the ceiling— because now he finds can’t quite hold back his desperate gasps and curses as he tries not to lose control.

Eventually, once he finally realizes he’s not going to be able to get it unstuck on his own, he pulls out his phone and texts Roger. He shows up a minute later, looking rather confused when John opens the door just enough to yank him inside before locking it again.

“Wha—”

“My zipper is stuck.”

Roger blinks at him. “You… what?”

A white-hot sort of pain washes over John and he presses his thighs together, his hand between his legs. “My zipper, Roger, it’s stuck, help me get it down.”

Roger’s eyes widen. “Oh–Okay,” he says, taking a step in front of John, who looks back at him with pink cheeks.

“Hurry, please,” John says tightly, his hands in fists at his sides as Roger crouches down in front of him, his hands going to his zipper, tugging experimentally.

After a moment, Roger grimaces. “Shit. It’s really stuck.”

“Yes I know that,” John snaps, a little more harshly than he’d meant to. “Can you get it?”

After a long moment, Roger still hasn’t made any progress. His hand has slipped inside John’s pants, tugging at the fabric that seems to be caught in the zipper, but he keeps bumping John’s bladder and John can feel his control starting to slip.

“Roger, hurry up!”

“Damn it,” Roger mutters as his hand slips. “I’m trying! Quit moving around!”

“If I stop moving I’ll piss myself,” John says, his cheeks burning.

Roger bites his tongue, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. His hand pushes against John’s bladder again. John winces.

“Oh god,” John says suddenly, pressing his together as hard as he can. “Roger I leaked, I leaked I’m leaking.”

Roger looks up at him wide-eyed, mouth open in surprise before he snaps himself out of it and moves faster, trying desperately to get John’s zipper down.

“Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god shit shit shit,” John breathes, bouncing from foot to foot. He’s leaking almost continuously now— it’s still slow, just the smallest stream, but it seems the minute he manages to cut it off his control slips and he leaks again, until he can feel it starting to trickle down his leg. To his horror, a small wet spot is forming near the crotch of his pants, slowly spreading, and he feels like he wants to cry.

“Rogerrr,” he whines, “come on come on come on...”

He can’t wait. He really can’t. His bladder is so full he feels like he’s going to explode and it hurts, he has to let go, and when Roger’s hand slips and hits his bladder, hard, it’s over.

“Roger!” he says frantically, but it’s too late. He’s suddenly pissing himself, the crotch of his trousers quickly growing dark, the wetness spreading quickly down his legs. Soaking his jeans and starting to puddle on the floor of the bathroom. Roger still has a hand inside his pants, the other resting near his crotch holding the zipper as he watches wide-eyed in shock, still crouched on the floor in front of him. To John’s horror, when Roger finally pulls his hands away they’re all wet, and humiliation twists deep John’s stomach.

It’s almost deafeningly loud in the small bathroom, his piss clattering onto the tile floor, soaking his shoes and spreading onto Roger’s, and John’s eyes sting. He blinks quickly. Roger finally snaps out of whatever trance he’s in and stands up, wiping his hands on his own pants, and when John realizes Roger is wiping off his piss he has to choke back a sob. He hides his face in his hands, can’t bear to watch as the piss streams down his legs where they’re still pressed together, the puddle spreading around him.

“Hey,” Roger says softly, a little unsteadily, tentatively laying a hand on John’s back. “It’s okay John. You didn’t mean to.”

Hot tears of humiliation roll down John’s cheeks as his stream finally slows to a trickle and then stops completely. “I’m sorry,” he croaks, his voice small. “I’m really sorry, I… I tried to hold it but I couldn’t Rog...”

“I know love,” Roger says gently, his warm hand rubbing steadily up and down John’s back. “It was just an accident Deaks. Accidents happen, alright? It’s not your fault.”

John finally manages to take his head out of his hands, looking at Roger tearfully. “Just… my _fucking_ zipper,” he whispers, his voice breaking, tugging at his zipper again pointlessly.

“I know,” Roger hums. He must be acutely aware of the fact that the both of them are standing in a puddle of John’s piss, but he really doesn’t seem to care. He just takes a step closer, wraps his arms around John and squeezes him tightly. 

Suddenly John is just breaking down. 

He clings to Roger, crying hard into his shoulder, sobbing into his shirt until it feels wet under his cheek. Roger just holds him tighter, rubs his back and whispers to him that it’s alright, he didn’t mean to, it wasn’t his fault. John doesn’t know how long they stand there like that, Roger holding him while he cries, but when he’s finally calmed down he takes in a shaky breath and lifts his head to look at Roger miserably.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, hoarse.

“Don’t be,” Roger tells him gently, pressing a kiss to his nose. “Come on,” he says finally. “Let’s go home and get you cleaned up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk about piss w me or request something from me on my [tumblr](https://starrydrowse.tumblr.com/) :)


	4. john

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John looks so pretty dressed up in his little skirt, squirming around, trying so hard to be good for Roger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crossposted from my tumblr
> 
> based on the prompt:
> 
> _hm. john wetting himself in a skirt. please_

“Roger,” John breathes, bending over slightly with his thighs pressed together. His bladder is so full he feels like he’s about to burst, and he holds himself tightly over the fabric of the skirt, bouncing on his heels. He loves this skirt— loves how pretty and feminine it makes him feel, especially when he wears it with his nice button up and his sheer stockings like he does now. Except now his skirt feels wet under his hands and Roger is watching him with a heavy gaze, palming himself indulgently over his trousers.

“What did I tell you about holding yourself baby?” he asks evenly, and John whines.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, taking his hands away. There’s a wet patch on the front of my his skirt, and his cheeks burn. He crosses his legs tightly, his hands in fists at his sides. “Roger I have to go so bad,” he says desperately. “It hurts so much, god I don’t think I can hold it Rog…”

Roger hums, standing up and walking slowly up to John. “You look so pretty like this baby,” he says softly. “I thought you wanted to be a good boy for me?”

John whimpers. “I _do_ just— ‘m so full Rog, oh god I think I’m gonna have an accident—” He looks at Roger with desperate eyes, catching his lower lip between his teeth. Roger is standing so close now that John can smell the mint on his breath. He looks at him pleadingly.

Roger’s eyes roam over his body, take in the sight of John bent over and squirming like this, trying desperately to hold on. He takes the hem of John’s skirt between his fingers, carefully lifts it out of the way so he can get a good look at the cotton panties John is wearing, now soaking wet from the leaks he just can’t seem to hold back. He leaks again as Roger watches, his panties getting wetter as it trickles down his thighs before he manages to get it back under control.

“Sweetheart,” Roger says gently, letting his skirt back down, “you aren’t doing a very good job of holding it.”

“I’m sorry,” John gasps, pressing his legs together as tightly as he can. “I’m trying, I really am— Roger I really don’t think I can hol— oh.” His eyes go wide. “Oh no, nonononono please—” John’s hands fly back to hold himself tightly over his skirt. “I’m leaking Rog, I leaked I’m leaking I can’t stop it—”

Roger watches him squirm frantically, whining and gasping as he tries desperately to keep holding on, but it’s useless. There are tears in John’s eyes as he breathes “nononononono,” and then he’s just losing it.

He’s suddenly wetting himself, piss streaming through his fingers and soaking the fabric of his skirt. It streams down his legs, clattering onto the floor and making a puddle under him, and he’s blinking back tears as he keeps trying frantically to get it back under control.

It’s no use though. He can't stop— can only stand there and keep pissing himself until his bladder is empty. His cheeks are burning, his skirt and his stockings dripping wet, an enormous puddle under his stockinged feet. When he forces himself to look up and meet Roger’s eyes, Roger’s pupils are blown. John swallows.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice impossibly small. “I really tried to hold it, I didn’t mean to have an accident.”

“I know you didn’t sweet boy,” Roger says gently, his voice breathy. “But I told you to be good and hold it for me. Didn’t I?”

John nods.

“And did you hold it? Or did you have an accident?”

John’s face is positively burning. “I had an accident.” he whispers.

Roger hums. “And you know what happens when you aren’t good for me, don’t you?”

John swallows, hard. His spine tingles and now he’s getting hard under the skirt. “I get punished,” he breathes.

“That’s right,” Roger says softly, carefully stepping back to sit again in his chair. He smirks up at John, patting his lap. “Over my knee, love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk about piss w me or request something from me on my [tumblr](https://starrydrowse.tumblr.com/) :)


	5. john

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The concert is just too bloody long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crossposted from my tumblr
> 
> based on the prompt: 
> 
> _what ab john pissing himself after a concert because he didn’t have a break to go during the concert, so the boys have to get John to the hotel wo anyone seeing him, John doesn’t even give a shit he’s just sad ab pissing himself_

John is starting to panic. He can’t remember the last time he needed to piss this badly. 

He’d completely forgotten to go before the concert. He figured he’d been fine— he didn’t need to go that badly anyway— but then there’d been some sort of mix up and the short break that usually comes about halfway through the show never came. That’s when he’d started to worry. It looked like they’d be playing straight until the end, and what had started as a small tickle in John’s bladder has since morphed into a dull sort of ache that’s getting harder and harder to ignore. 

It’s getting rather distracting, really, and John forces himself to focus on playing his bass, locking eyes with Roger over his drumset to make sure he stays with the beat. His bladder spasms suddenly and John presses his legs together as subtly as he can, ignoring the curious look that Roger gives him.

The need builds steadily, and by the time the concert is coming to an end he’s really now sure how much longer he can hold it. He’s honestly pretty shocked he managed to make it this long— his bladder is a heavy weight in his stomach, full and aching, and he can barely move for fear that he’ll lose control and piss himself right there on the stage in front of thousands of people. As it is, he can barely stop himself from leaking— his underwear already feels decidedly damp, and he’s just praying it hasn’t soaked through to his trousers. 

By now, the others have picked up on what’s wrong, and they keep shooting him worried looks across the stage, which John steadfastly ignores. Instead, he crosses his legs as tightly as he can and wills Freddie to fucking _hurry up_ and close the show. Even as he does, he feels another leak wet his underwear, and he’s really, really panicking. His heart is beating out of his chest and he wills himself to hold on just a little longer, just a few more minutes. 

_Finally,_ the show is coming to a close. He makes it to the front of the stage with small, careful steps, and when he bows he really, really almost loses it. He leaks, a lot— it’s a solid few seconds before he manages to get it back under control, and he positions his bass in front of his crotch to hide what he knows must be an incredibly obvious wet spot, his cheeks burning. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Brian shooting him a concerned look, and humiliation curls hot inside John’s chest.

As soon as the lights go out, he’s hurrying offstage as quickly as he can without losing it, Roger Freddie and Brian barely a step behind him. He’s leaking steadily now, can feel his underwear slowly growing warm and wet. _Come on John,_ he tells himself, _just a little longer now. Just keep holding it._ The toilets are so close, all he has to do is make it there.

But much as he tries, he’s no match for his poor, overfull bladder.

He’s barely offstage when he simply can’t wait any longer. He feels his control slipping as he leaks again, and a wave of panic builds in his chest when he realizes that this time he can’t cut off the stream. “Oh no,” he whispers, stopping where he is and pressing his thighs together, shoving his hands between his legs. “No no no no no not yet please...”

“John?” Freddie sounds so concerned, coming up beside him and laying a hand on his arm. “Oh darling, you need to use the loo don’t you?”

John’s cheeks are burning. There are so many people around— roadies and sound techs and light guys bustling around backstage and he’s standing right in the middle of all of it, trying desperately to keep from pissing himself like a fucking child. Suddenly Roger and Brian are on his other side, Roger reaching to help him slip his bass over his shoulders before handing it off to a roadie, who very politely pretends not to notice what’s going on.

“Deaky,” Brian’s voice is so soft and kind it’s almost infuriating. “Come on, the toilets aren’t far okay? You can make it.”

John shakes his head. “I can’t,” he whispers. His eyes are stinging and he blinks quickly. “If I move I’ll piss myself.”

His trousers are slowly growing warm wet as he holds himself, and nobody seems to know what to say. He squeezes his legs together as tightly as he can but it’s no use.

His bladder finally gives out and suddenly he’s pissing himself. He’s pissing himself, right there, barely offstage and surrounded by roadies and tech crews and his boyfriends and he can’t stop. The piss spills through his fingers where he holds himself, soaking his trousers and clattering onto the floor underneath him. He swallows, blinking back tears as a puddle forms around him.

Distantly, he can hear Roger and Brian and Freddie telling him it’s okay, that it isn’t his fault— can feel comforting hands on his back between his shoulder blades and on his arms, and he can’t believe he’s fucking wetting himself right there in front of everyboy because he couldn’t fucking hold it until he got to a bathroom. When he finally finishes, his face is burning and he’s so humiliated he wishes the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

There’s a hand on the small of his back then, quickly leading him away, and when he hears Roger saying something lowly to a roadie about the mess John can’t hold back his tears. He’s crying silently, tears slowly rolling down his face as the the boys lead him as quickly and discreetly as they can to the dressing room. He barely registers where they are until the dressing room door is shut behind them and Freddie is cupping his cheeks so gently with both hands.

“John honey,” he says softly, wiping John’s tears with his thumbs. “It’s okay.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t your fault deaky,” Roger adds gently. “Those bloody tech guys screwed up the timing and there was no break to use the loo. It could’ve happened to any of us.”

John takes in a shuddery breath. “Can we just go back to the hotel, please?” he asks, his voice impossibly small. “I just want to get cleaned up and then hide under the covers forever.”

Brian laughs softly. “Of course love. We should probably wait a while though for some of these people to clear out,” he says carefully. “Otherwise lot of people are gonna see you.”

John covers his face with his hands. His pants are now uncomfortably cold and wet, clinging to his legs, and he just wants to shower and change into something warm and dry. “I don’t care,” he says miserably. “I just wanna go.”

The other three all exchange a concerned look.

“We’ll just wait a few minutes, alright dear?” Freddie says. “We’ll go soon, I promise.”

John swallows, scrubbing his hands over his face. He nods.

It feels like an eternity later that the others finally deem it safe to leave. They leave in a cluster with John more or less in the middle, the other three trying to shield him the best they can. He really can’t find it in himself to care, though. He’s just sad and tired and wants to go home.

The ride back is quiet. John doesn’t talk, doesn’t listen to the other three chatting quietly, staring out the window until finally they’re pulling up outside the hotel. He ignores all the eyes on him as they walk through the lobby, up the lift, until finally they’re back in their room. John goes straight to the bathroom, immediately stripping off and turning on the shower. 

He emerges a long time later, wrapped in a bathrobe, skin pink and dewy and soft from the heat of the shower. As soon as he does, his boys are gathering him in a group hug, squeezing him tight. 

It’s not exactly great— none of them have showered yet since the show— but standing there wrapped in their arms, with his boys all telling him that it’s okay and that they love him so much, John can’t help but feel a little better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk about piss w me or request something from me on my [tumblr](https://starrydrowse.tumblr.com/) :)


	6. roger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Cupboard Incident™

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crossposted from my tumblr
> 
> based on the prompt:
> 
> _Ya know what the queen fandom is lacking? Something w roger and The Cupboard Incident ft watersports. Tell me after hours of him being locked in there that an empty container doesn't look all that bad to use_

“Fuck,” Roger mutters under his breath, squeezing his cock tightly through his trousers. It’s been hours since he’d first locked himself in this fucking coat cupboard, when he’d jammed the door so the others couldn’t get it open. He’s had to piss pretty much the entire time he’s been in here, and now it’s getting to the point where the need is becoming hard to ignore.

There’s an empty water bottle he’d found in one of the deep pockets of Brian’s coat. It’s a last resort, he keeps telling himself. The bottle seems like it’s mocking him from where it’s laying in the corner of the cupboard.

“Roger,” comes Freddie’s voice, tight and irritated. “You’re going to have to come out of there eventually.”

“Not until you say we can make my song the B-Side,” Roger says definitively.

“That isn’t going to happen,” Freddie sighs. “I’m sorry Roger, it just isn’t strong enough.”

Roger rolls his eyes. “Oh, fuck off Freddie.”

“You know, eventually you’re going to have to eat,” comes Brian’s voice, slightly muffled through the cupboard door. “Or use the bathroom.”

“I have a bottle,” Roger shoots back.

“You’re disgusting,” John responds.

“Whatever.”

Roger gives himself another tight squeeze. It’s _bad_ now. He can’t remember the last time he was this desperate, and he eyes the bottle longingly. _It’s a last resort,_ he reminds himself. Although, he seems to be approaching that point rather quickly. 

Surprisingly, he makes it almost another half hour before the first few drops of piss wet his boxers, making his heart leap into his throat. It’s time. He has no choice. Fleetingly, he considers just leaving the cupboard to go to the loo, but he quickly reminds himself that he _can’t_ give in now— not when he’s this close to getting what he wants. No, he’s doing this. His song _will_ be the B-side, and if that means he has to piss in a bottle, well, then so be it. His cheeks feel warm as he reaches for the bottle and unscrews it.

He carefully eases his already-dripping cock out of his pants, and he barely manages to line himself up with the bottle before he’s letting go. It feels fucking incredible, the relief, and he can’t help but moan softly under his breath. It’s loud, the sound of his piss hitting the bottle as it quickly fills up, and just as he wonders if the boys can hear it, Brian’s muffled voice says, “_Roger,_ you’re not seriously…”

“I had to go,” Roger says simply.

“Jesus christ,” Freddie mutters. “Just fucking come out of there Roger.”

“Not until you agree that my song can be the B-side.”

The bottle is filling up quickly— too quickly— and much too soon he’s forcing himself to cut off the stream before it overflows. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath, capping the bottle again and tucking his dick away. He’s still so full, the bottle barely gave him any relief at all, and what’s worse is that now that the floodgates have opened, it’s so much harder to hold back the small leaks that keep wetting his boxers. He holds himself tightly, willing himself to hold out just a little while longer.

But he can’t. He’s opened the floodgates too much and he just can’t hold it anymore, and suddenly he’s groaning and letting go in his pants. His trousers quickly turn dark as he sits there, wetting himself. His cheeks are burning. Here he is, a grown fucking man, fully wetting himself in a coat cupboard because he was too stubborn to give in and go to the toilets.

The puddle spreads out around him, and he puts his head in his hands as he pisses himself. It still feels amazing, the warmth and the wetness and the _relief,_ until his piss starts to drip out through the crack in the bottom of the cupboard and he suddenly hears Brian’s soft voice saying “Rog?”

Roger’s spine goes cold. He tries desperately to shut off the stream again but he can’t— he can’t do anything except sit there and keep peeing himself until his bladder is empty.

“Roger?” John asks, sounding concerned. “Did you…”

“Fuck off Deaky,” Roger says, his voice thick, blinking quickly. He already wet himself like a child, the one thing he’s _not_ going to do is cry about it.

The boys are silent for a long time, before Freddie sighs heavily. “Fine,” he says. “I’m In Love With My Car can be the B-Side.”

It takes a moment to register, but when it does Roger’s eyes go wide. “Really?”

“Yes,” Freddie sighs. “Now would you please come out of there?”

Roger’s cheeks burn at the prospect of facing his bandmates like this, but he unjams the cupboard door and slides it open. All three of the boys are looking at him, their expressions unimpressed mixed with a healthy dose of pity.

“Sorry,” Roger mutters. “I didn’t mean to… you know…”

“It’s fine Rog,” Brian begins to say, before Freddie elbows him in the side and he cuts himself off.

“Just go get cleaned up,” Freddie sighs.

Roger nods. His cheeks are still burning and he can’t remember the last time he was this embarrassed, but he finds himself smiling to himself, just a little, as he gets up and heads toward the bathroom.

_His song is going to be the B-Side._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk about piss w me or request something from me on my [tumblr](https://starrydrowse.tumblr.com/) :)


	7. freddie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie likes to hold it while he's getting fucked, but he misjudges how much he can drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crossposted from my tumblr
> 
> based on this prompt:  
  
_could you write about freddie secretly holding his piss while brian fucks him because he loves how desperate and full it makes him feel, but he’s too shy to mention it? he always holds it until after he’s come and can use the toilet while cleaning up, but this time freddie drank too much and he loses it all over both of them as soon as he comes. he goes for what feels like ages and when he finishes he’s not sure if he’s more embarrassed by what he’s done or by how obviously it’s turned him on_

Freddie moans loudly, his hand tight around his own dick. Brian is pounding into him hard, grunting and groaning into his neck. It feels fucking incredible, all of it— Brian’s lips on his neck, the way Brian is hitting his prostate with every thrust, the fullness of Freddie’s bladder that’s making everything so much more intense. 

The ache is warm and full and he has to squeeze his dick hard to relieve some of the pressure just to make sure he can keep holding it. He thinks fleetingly that maybe he’d had a little too much to drink this time— his bladder is so full it hurts and he’s not actually sure how much longer he can keep holding it— but then Brian growls and starts fucking into him faster and the thought flies out the window as Freddie gasps and cries out at the change in pace.

Eventually though, the need builds to the point that it’s distracting. Freddie really needs to pee, soon, and the sooner they both finish the sooner he can go to the bathroom. He starts jerking himself off furiously, his head tipped back onto the pillow and his eyes shut. He’s so close he can taste it, and when Brian goes still and Freddie suddenly feels his warm cum inside him, filling him up, it pushes him over the edge and he cums so hard he sees white.

As he comes down from it, breathing hard, he slowly comes to realize that there’s a warmth on his skin— on his stomach and his sides. Soon he realizes that there’s an accompanying wetness, and a feeling of relief, and his heart jumps into his throat.

“Shit,” he gasps, lifting his head to look down, and oh god. He’s pissing himself, piss flowing over his stomach and down his sides, soaking into the bed underneath him, warm and wet. He tenses up and squeezes his cock in his fist trying to cut off the stream, but it’s no use. Brian is kneeling between his legs watching him in shock, his eyes wide, and all Freddie can do is cover his burning face with his hands. “This isn’t happening,” he whispers to himself, “god, this can’t be happening.”

It seems to go on forever and he can only lie there, wetting himself, until finally his bladder is empty. His eyes are stinging as his stream finally slows to a trickle, and then stops completely. He just pissed himself after sex and Brian is still staring at him in surprise and Freddie can’t remember the last time he was this embarrassed, but he also can’t help that it does things to him. His cock has taken a very apparent interest in the situation and god that might be even worse than pissing himself after sex because now Brian knows that he gets off on it and Freddie wants to cry.

“I’m so sorry,” he manages, his voice so small, not meeting Brian’s eyes.

Brian blinks a few times. “Oh, um. Yeah. It’s okay, Fred.”

Freddie swallows past the lump in his throat and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. He’s hard and Brian can see that he’s hard and it’s making Freddie want to curl up and die. “I didn’t mean to, Bri, I’m really sorry. God I can’t believe I just fucking— I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize Freddie, I know you didn’t mean to,” Brian says gently, squeezing his knee comfortingly. “Why don’t you, um, go get cleaned up, and I’ll take care of, uh…”

“Thank you,” Freddie says quickly, finally taking his hands away from his face and looking up at Brian miserably. 

Brian’s cheeks are pink and his pupils are blown, but before Freddie can say anything about it he’s saying “It’s no problem love,” standing up from the bed to let Freddie up. He keeps his hands folded in front of his dick, and Freddie catches himself staring for a long moment before he snaps out of it and gets up from the bed, quickly making his way to the bathroom. They’ll have to talk about it later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk about piss w me or request something from me on my [tumblr](https://starrydrowse.tumblr.com/) :^)


	8. brian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian and John indulge a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crossposted from my tumblr
> 
> based on the prompt:
> 
> _I've enjoyed your work over at ao3 :) And would like to ask you for some more of Brian wetting himself, with some added John/Brian. Perhaps he's been holding on purpose, and John rubbing his full bladder feels really good._

Brian nuzzles into John’s shoulder, whining softly. His trousers are unzipped, John’s hand settled low down on his stomach, tracing the small swell of his very full bladder.

“It’s so hard baby,” John murmurs, resting the palm of his hand there, heavy. “You’re so full, aren’t you?”

Brian nods, his eyes closed as he wills the ache to subside just a little, tries to hold off just a little longer.

“Words, please.”

“Yes,” Brian breathes, blinking his eyes open to look at John, needy. “Yes sir, ‘m so full, I need to go so badly.”

“Good boy,” John croons, making Brian whimper quietly in the back of his throat.

He _really_ needs to pee. He’s laid out on the bed for John, still dressed in the jeans and jumper he’d come home wearing earlier, when John had met him by the door with a glass of water already in hand and that look in his eye. John is lying beside him now, pressed up against his side with his head resting on his hand as he watches intently. His other hand is rubbing slow circles over Brian’s bladder, every so often pressing down just to hear Brian gasp.

“You wanna let go, baby?” John says softly. “Soak those nice trousers for me and make a mess all over the sheets?”

Brian can’t help but moan at that. “Yes sir,” he says, breathy.

John hums and presses down on his bladder a little harder. “Go ahead then sweetheart,” he says. “You’ve earned it, being so good and holding it for me for so long.”

Brian lets out a shuddery breath. He looks at John, uncertain, his bottom lip between his teeth. John nods reassuringly, leaning in to to kiss him, chaste. 

Brian tries to relax. It’s hard to let go like this— even now, when he’s so full he feels like he could lose it any second. He tries to relax his stomach, his eyes shut as he focuses, but he only manages a few leaks before he’s instinctively cutting off the stream.

“Come on love,” John whispers, pressing harder on his bladder and making him whimper and spurt into his trousers. “Just relax for me. Think of how good it’ll feel when your trousers get warm and wet around your cock.”

Brian’s stomach tenses slightly as he tries to coax his bladder into letting go. He feels a few jets and spurts wet his underwear, but it isn’t anywhere near enough. John massages his bladder a little harder.

“Come on baby,” John murmurs. “Be a good boy and wet yourself for me.”

Finally, Brian is letting go. There’s a soft hissing sound before the crotch of his jeans slowly starts to turn dark, and he moans softly as John keeps rubbing slow circles into his lower stomach.

“That’s it,” John coos. “Good boy Brian. Let it all out baby, that’s it.”

It feels so warm and so wet, soaking into Brian’s jeans and turning the denim dark and shiny, before it starts to seep into the sheets below him. Brian feels so naughty, lying on the bed like this, pissing himself for John, and when John’s hand finally leaves his bladder and settles over his crotch as he wets himself, Brian’s mind goes blank.

He could probably stop, if he really tried. He probably could’ve made it to the bathroom. But letting go like this just feels so fucking good and so addictingly naughty that he really can’t find it in himself to care. He sighs, tipping his head to nuzzle into John’s shoulder. It feels _really_ good— the relief and the warmth and the wetness. When his bladder is finally empty, Brian is tired and blissed out and harder than he’s been in a long time.

“Feel good?” John asks softly, stroking a hand slowly through Brian’s hair.

Brian makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, pulling back to press a kiss to John’s jaw. “_So_ good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk about piss w me or request something from me on my [tumblr](https://starrydrowse.tumblr.com/) :^)


	9. freddie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crossposted from my tumblr
> 
> based on the prompt:
> 
> _Freddie’s first time wetting himself for Brian?_

Freddie gasps and crosses one leg in front of the other. The ache is so strong, so overwhelming, and he squeezes his eyes shut and waits for it to pass. Without even realizing, his hands shoot to his crotch to hold himself tightly, squeezing his cock, giving himself the pressure he desperately needs.

“Freddie,” Brian says sharply. “What did I say about holding yourself?”

Freddie whines, but takes his hands away. “But Brian, it— god it hurts. I really have to go.”

Brian is watching him from beside the dresser, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed as he looks at Freddie with dark eyes. Freddie is standing in the middle of their bedroom, a towel under his feet, his hands in fists at his sides as he squirms. He looks back at Brian desperately, his bottom lip caught between his teeth and a blush high on his cheeks.

“Tell me what it feels like,” Brian says finally. As much as he’s trying to seem unaffected, Freddie can tell that Brian is just as turned on as he is— there’s an obscene bulge in the front of his trousers, a pink flush down his neck, and when he talks he sounds a little breathless.

“It’s—” Freddie tries to find the words to explain it. “Full. And warm. I don’t really know how else to describe it.”

Brian nods. “It feels good though?”

Freddie’s eyelashes flutter. “Yeah, Bri,” he says softly. “Feels _really_ good.”

Brian bites his lip, his hand drifting downward seemingly of its own accord to palm himself through his trousers.

Freddie can’t remember the last time he was this turned on. He never thought, in his wildest dreams, that he would be here— that his weird secret kink would lead them to this, but god is he ever glad that it did because he feels like he’s burning up under Brian’s heavy gaze in the best way possible.

His bladder is _so_ full and he can’t stop squirming for fear that he might lose control. That is the point of this, he supposes— to wet himself for Brian— and the thought makes his stomach flip in excitement and nervousness. As much as he wants this— and he does, the thought of doing this has been the subject of countless wank sessions over the years— it’s still _embarrassing_, fucking pissing himself in front of his boyfriend, and so he holds on as long as he possibly can, bouncing and squirming and crossing his legs until he feels himself starting to leak.

He gasps softly, his eyes widening as he looks down at his crotch. There’s nothing on his trousers yet, but his boxers now feel decidedly wet and it makes heat rush to his cheeks.

“I leaked,” he says, his voice small. “Bri, I leaked.”

“Fuck,” Brian breathes.

After the first leak, they start to come more frequently. He squirms around and presses his thighs together as hard as he can but he can’t stop the tiny drops of piss that wet his boxers. He whimpers and gasps every time he loses a little more until it’s started to soak through to his trousers, a dark spot slowly spreading near his crotch.

“Oh my god,” he says. “Shit. Shit. Bri I don’t know how much longer I can hold it. _Shit_.”

Brian wets his lips, watching wide-eyed as Freddie squirms. Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything when Freddie breaks the rules as starts holding himself desperately, squeezing his cock in a tight grip as he tries his hardest to keep holding it. Eventually though, it’s too much. His poor, worn out bladder can’t take it anymore.

“Nonononono,” Freddie breathes frantically, before he suddenly whines as his bladder finally gives out. Brian watches the wetness slowly spreading on Freddie’s trousers, darkening the denim, piss spilling through Freddie’s fingers as he keeps holding himself tightly, trying to stop. 

“Oh god,” Freddie whispers. Finally, he realizes that the battle has been lost, and he slowly takes his hands away. The wetness spreads down his thighs in streaks, splattering onto his feet and the towel underneath him. It’s so _warm_ and it feels so fucking _good—_ he’s always loved how it felt, but here, with Brian’s eyes on him, watching him hungrily, it’s somehow even better than before. He can’t help but moan when he finally lets go all the way, wetting himself full force, his eyes fluttering closed. He doesn’t notice Brian pushing himself up away from the wall, doesn’t notice him slowly walking up to him, until he feels Brian’s hand settle over his crotch.

Freddie gasps, his eyes flying open. Brian is looking down at him with his lips parted, his pupils blown. Freddie is still pissing himself and Brian’s hand is gently squeezing his cock through his trousers and he’s fucking pissing into Brian’s hand and Freddie kind of feels like he’s going to pass out. 

When he finally finishes, he’s harder than he thinks he’s ever been in his life, standing there in his soaked trousers with Brian so, so close to him, looking down at him, his hand still on his crotch. He barely gives Freddie a moment to breathe before he’s kissing him, hard and messy and hungry, like he can’t get enough, like he can’t hold himself back. 

“That was so fucking hot Fred,” he says between kisses. “Jesus, you drive me fucking insane.” 

Freddie moans against his mouth, clinging to Brian tightly as he fumbles with the button of Freddie’s trousers. He pulls back slightly when Brian manages to get them undone, letting him tug them down his thighs. Freddie’s legs feel wet and sticky and it makes his cheeks burn.

“Are you going to fuck me?” he breathes, looking up at Brian with dark eyes.

Brian crushes their lips together again, kisses Freddie until his lungs burn. “God, Freddie.” he mutters. “You have no idea the things I’m going to do to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk about piss w me or request something from me on my [tumblr](https://starrydrowse.tumblr.com/) :^)


	10. brian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian is too shy to ask where the bathroom is at Freddie, John, and Roger's flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crossposted from my tumblr
> 
> based on this prompt:
> 
> _brian going over to the boys apartment, and being too embarrassed to ask where the bathroom is, so he just keeps watching whatever movie they’re watching, and suddenly a puddle is growing on the couch and blankets_

Brian crosses one leg over the other and squeezes them together as subtly as he can. He’s had to pee since he first arrived at the boys’ flat a few hours ago, but it’s his first time there and he doesn’t know where the bathroom is. He wants to ask— he’s wanted to ask since it first got really bad, at least an hour an hour ago— but just the thought makes his cheeks burn. It’s _embarrassing—_ he’s a grown man, he should be able to hold it.

So he does, as long as he can. His bladder is so full it hurts but he tries his best not to let on, squirming as subtly as he can while they sit together on the couch and watch a movie. He’d started leaking a while ago, tiny splashes of piss wetting his boxers and making them feel warm and wet in his pants, but every time he opens his mouth to ask he finds that he can’t get the words out. His cheeks are burning and he just can’t stop leaking and he _needs_ to ask but he _can’t._ He can wait, he tells himself. He can hold it.

Eventually though, it’s too late. Brian realizes with a start that he can’t get up without fully pissing himself. Small leaks keep wetting his underwear, and he’s slowly starting to feel the wetness under his bum on the couch. His heart is racing in his chest and he’s sure his face is bright red and he squeezes his dick through his trousers so hard it hurts, trying desperately to delay the inevitable.

But it’s no use.

He’s slowly wetting himself, right there on the couch with John and Roger and Freddie beside him. Brian stares straight ahead at the movie and tries his best to look like he’s paying attention. He can’t though, because he can feel the wetness on his hands where it’s soaking through his jeans and tears are burning his eyes because he’s about to lose control right there in front of all of his friends at their flat just because he was too shy to ask where the bathroom is. He swallows hard, and then he just feels his bladder give out. Suddenly he’s fully pissing himself, the warm wetness flooding his crotch and pooling underneath him on the couch.

“Oh my god,” he whispers. He blinks back tears.

His stream is strong and unbroken and if he listens hard enough he can hear the soft hiss as his bladder empties into his pants. He knows it’s spreading on the couch, that it must be getting on Roger where he’s sitting so close beside him, and Brian chokes back a sob.

“Bri?” Roger says suddenly, looking over at him concerned, and when he sees the redness of Brian’s cheeks and the tears in his eyes, he looks alarmed. “Bri whats the matter? Are you— are you okay?”

Brian can only press his lips together and shake his head, willing the tears not to fall and make this even more embarrassing than it already is. By this point, John and Freddie have clued into the fact that something is wrong, and they’re looking over at Brian, worried.

“I’m sorry,” Brian manages.

“Sorry?” Roger’s eyebrows furrow. “What are you sorry for?”

Brian just shakes his head. It’s then that Roger seems to feel the wetness that’s spreading, under him and his eyes widen.

“Oh! Brian are you—?”

Brian’s lower lip trembles and he can’t remember the last time he was this humiliated.

“What’s wrong?” Freddie asks, not cluing in.

John shushes him..“He’s having an accident,” he tells him quietly.

“An accident?” Freddie says, confused. “What do you mean he’s having an accident?”

“He’s wetting himself, Freddie.”

Brian whimpers, and he can’t help it when he blinks and tears roll down his cheeks. He covers his face with his hands. He can’t believe this is happening, in front of all his friends, on their bloody _couch_ for fuck’s sake.

Finally, his bladder is empty, and Brian wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers shakily.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Roger says softly. “What happened?”

“I—” Brian manages, “I didn’t know where the bathroom was an-and I didn’t want t-to ask and b-bother you or anything and I didn’t mean to we-wet myself I’m really sorry—”

“Hey hey hey, it’s alright Bri,” Roger says gently, “we know you didn’t mean to. We should’ve told you where the loo is.”

“It’s okay,” John adds, “really. It’s not a big deal.”

Roger gently squeezes his knee. “How about I show you where the bathroom is and you can take a shower? And we’ll get you some clean clothes to change into, okay?”

Brian swallows. “Wh-what about— it’s all over the c-couch—”

“We’ll take care of it darling, don’t worry,” Freddie says kindly.

“Um. O-Okay,” Brian says weakly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” John tells him. “It’s not a big deal Bri, it happens.”

Brian nods, quickly brushing the tears off his face.

“Come on,” Roger says, standing up and reaching out his hand. “Lets get you cleaned up.”

“Thank you,” Brian says quietly. He lets Roger pull him up and lead him to the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk about piss w me on my [tumblr](https://starrydrowse.tumblr.com/) :^)


	11. brian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian really has to go during sex with Roger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crossposted from my tumblr
> 
> based on this prompt:
> 
> _Could you pretty please write about Bri being held down by rog in the morning and them having sleepy morning sex. And Brian accidentally pissing, himself despite him warning rog, and roger just fucking him harder?_

Brian sighs against Roger’s lips, wrapping his arms around Roger’s neck as Roger gently presses him down into the mattress. Despite the open window, Brian feels almost too warm with the sunlight spilling into the room, heating his skin and making him sticky with sweat. He doesn’t mind though, not with Roger kissing him like this— slow and sleepy and unhurried, like they have all the time in the world. Nothing else seems to matter with Roger on top of him, naked, kissing him like he’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen, reaching between his legs to rub a finger over his hole, asking. Even the pressure in Brian’s bladder doesn’t seem to matter at all as he nods, whispering _“yes.”_

Roger opens him up as slowly and gently as he always does when they’re warm and lazy and sleepy like this. He twists and curls his fingers and makes sure Brian is stretched so well he’ll barely feel the burn when he adds another finger. Unfortunately, it’s when Roger is three fingers deep inside him that Brian realizes he needs to pee much worse than he previously thought. His bladder is full and heavy, every time Roger presses his fingers back inside it lurches and _god_ it feels _good_, but Brian knows there’s no way he’ll be able to hold it until they’re done, so reluctantly he says, “Rog…”

Roger glances up at him.

Brian’s cheeks feel a little warm. “I have to pee.”

Roger blinks at him. “Can’t you hold it?” he asks.

Brian, much too embarrassed to admit that no, he definitely cannot, swallows heavily and nods.

“Y-Yeah.”

It feels like hours later that Roger is finally— _finally—_ fucking him. Brian feels so full it’s insane, with Roger filling him up so well and his bladder aching inside him, pulsing every time Roger fucks into him. It’s fucking amazing, how full he feels, and Brian can’t stay quiet for the life of him, tossing his head and moaning shamelessly as the feeling of needing to piss so badly mixes with the feeling Roger hitting his spot so fucking perfectly again and again.

Eventually, though, it’s too much. He can feel it aching to come out, and with each thrust he gets closer and closer to losing it until his legs are shaking where they’re wrapped around Roger’s waist.

“Roger,” he manages to gasp, his head still thrown back. “Rog— Roger.”

“Yeah?” Roger breathes, and when Brian manages to pry his eyes open Roger is only inches away from his face, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he focuses on hitting Brian’s prostate with every thrust and Brian can barely get his brain to focus enough to form words at all.

“I really— ah— Rog I really n-need to pee…” he admits, the tips of his ears burning.

“I thought you said you could hold it?” Roger asks.

“I… I didn’t think I had to go this bad.”

Roger laughs breathlessly, and humiliation curls in Brian’s stomach, sending heat straight to his cock. He doesn’t say anything else, lets the need build as Roger fucks him into the mattress, until suddenly he feels dangerously close to leaking.

He gasps, tensing his muscles and clenching around Roger. He manages to hold it in, but he feels right on the edge, like any second he could lose it and piss all over himself and the bed.

“Roger,” he gasps again, and then whines as his bladder spasms and he has to concentrate very hard on not losing control. “I really don’t… think I can hold it Rog… if I don’t go I might— I might have an accident…”

Even as he says it, Brian isn’t sure if he really wants Roger to stop and let him go. He thinks of the alternative, of losing control and pissing himself there on the bed with Roger on top of him fucking him so well, and it makes his cheeks burn with embarrassment but it also kind of makes his cock throb. He’s lucky then, he supposes, that Roger only mutters _“fuck,”_ burying his face in Brian’s shoulder and starting to fuck him harder.

Brian gasps, his hands flying between his legs to hold himself desperately in a tight grip. He’s trying so hard not to fucking pee with every thrust, but he can feel the small leaks wetting his hands, trickling onto his tummy, his bladder jerking every time Roger fucks into him. He only manages to hold on for another minute or two before he finally loses control.

One moment he’s fine, the next moment he’s suddenly peeing full force into his hands. His stream flows hotly onto his stomach, streaming in rivulettes down his sides. He’s whimpering in the back of his throat, clenching his muscles and trying desperately to stop, but it’s no use. The second Roger notices he moans, loud and fucking filthy, his hips jerking, fucking into Brian harder, like he just can’t hold himself back from fucking him while Brian pisses himself all over the both of them.

Brian is whimpering, needy and desperate, his eyes squeezed shut and his cheeks burning. “I told you I had to go,” he whines.

“Fuck,” Roger grunts. “I know—”

_God_ does it feel fucking incredible— the relief, the warmth, the wetness on Brian’s tummy, pooling under him, soaking into the sheets, Roger still hitting his prostate dead on and filling him up so perfectly. For all he tries Brian can’t stop moaning, needy and desperate and breathy as his bladder empties. He just can’t stop peeing himself and he honestly can’t remember the last time he was this turned on.

Finally, his bladder is empty, and it only takes one stroke of Roger’s hand around his cock before Brian is cumming so hard he sees white, moaning loud and broken. Roger follows barely a moment later, groaning into the sweaty skin of Brian’s neck as he cums so deep inside him.

They lay there, breathing hard, sweaty and tacky with Brian’s piss, until they manage to catch their breath. Now that he’s cum the embarrassment is catching up with Brian, humiliation curling inside his chest and turning his flushed skin even warmer.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers finally.

After a moment, Roger just laughs, bright and surprised. “Christ, Brian,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to Brian’s jaw. “Don’t be. That was literally the hottest fucking thing that’s ever happened.”

Brian’s blush darkens. “Really?”

Roger pulls back to kiss him properly, long and deep. “Really.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk about piss w me on my [tumblr](https://starrydrowse.tumblr.com/) :^)


	12. roger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> roger and brian are stuck in traffic and roger just can't hold it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crossposted from my tumblr
> 
> based on the prompt:
> 
> _i’d like one please of brian and roger stuck in traffic and roger’s so full he can’t stop leaking but he doesn’t want to let go in his car_

“fucking hell,” roger curses, his hand moving to his crotch to squeeze his his cock in a tight grip, “what the fuck is taking so long?”

brian peers out his window at the lineup of cars that’s seemingly a mile long. “i think there was an accident up ahead there.”

roger groans, tipping his head back as he shakes his leg. “don’t say accident brian,” he whines.

“sorry,” brian mutters, the tips of his ears already feeling warm from the secondhand embarrassment. 

they’ve already been stuck in this traffic for at least an hour, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to be clearing any time soon. roger has been complaining about needing to go to the toilet for about as long, and it’s only getting worse. he’s desperate now, squirming in the driver’s seat and holding himself tightly, his face bright red.

“hopefully they’ll get it cleared soon,” brian offers, although he doesn’t sound too confident.

“i bloody hope so,” roger mutters, “or i’m gonna piss myself right here in the seat.”

it’s quiet then for a while, the only sounds in the car being roger’s groans and curses as he tries desperately to hold on. the traffic doesn’t move, they’re at a complete standstill. finally, roger gasps sharply, his whole body suddenly going still and tense.

“oh my god,” he says. “brian, bri i think i leaked.” he looks at brian desperately. brian doesn’t know what to say. when roger carefully lifts his hands away from his crotch for a moment, they both glance down to see the small dark spot on his trousers.

“_shit,_” roger curses. his hands fly back to his crotch. “brian,” he whines. “what am i gonna do?”

brian doesn’t know what to say. roger clearly can’t hold it for much longer, and there’s no way they’re getting out of this traffic any time soon. “is there a bottle or something?” he says finally, turning to look into the back seat.

“no, i just cleaned the car,” roger says, his voice tense. “shit. _shit._ brian i— oh god. i leaked again. im leaking. oh my _god—_”

brian swallows. “roger, maybe you should just… let go?”

roger looks at him, wide eyed. “i can’t just piss myself brian,” he says incredulously. “i’m not a little kid, i can hold it.” a moment later he curses again, squeezing himself tighter and doubling over in his seat.

brian grimaces. “i’m just saying that it doesn’t look like we’re gonna be getting out of here any time soon.”

roger looks at him desperately. “i can’t just… let go,” he says finally, his voice small.

brian reaches over to lay a hand on roger’s thigh. “i know,” he says softly, “i just don’t want you to hurt yourself or anything.”

roger doesn’t say anything. he keeps squirming in his seat, leaking periodically and feeling his trousers get wetter and wetter under his hands.

“oh my god,” he mutters under his breath. his bladder is so full it feels like it’s going to burst, and he doesn’t think he’s had to go this bad ever in his life. finally, he starts to feel it on the seat under him, and to his horror, his eyes start to sting. he swallows hard, knowing he’s fighting a losing battle.

brian gives him a pitiful sort of look, which roger resolutely ignores, squeezing his eyes shut and focusing on keeping control of his bladder. the leaks are becoming more and more frequent now, short spurts that wet his boxers and turn them warm, soaking into his trousers and the seat under him. he can’t just let go— he won’t piss himself in his car, he just won’t.

except as time goes on he feels more and more like he isn’t going to have a choice. he can’t stop leaking no matter how hard he tries, and the traffic still hasn’t moved so much as an inch.

“roger…” brian says finally, his voice so soft.

“shut up,” roger says miserably.

brian ignores him. “it’s okay if you can’t hold it.”

roger groans, pressing his legs together as much as he can. “i _can’t,_” he whispers.

brian gently squeezes his knee. “i know love, it’s okay,” he says, soothing.

finally, roger’s bladder just can’t take it anymore. he feels it spasm harshly, making him spurt into his pants, and he knows the battle is lost. he hides his face in his hands as his bladder gives out and he starts to wet himself, right there in the driver's seat of his car. the warm wetness soaks his trousers quickly, pooling on the seat under him and spilling onto the floor of the car. it just keeps coming and coming and roger blinks quickly to try to hold back his tears. distantly, he can hear brian telling him that it’s okay, it isn’t his fault, it’s just an accident.

when he’s finally done roger feels exhausted and drained and more humiliated than he’s ever been in his life. his face is burning. he just wet himself like a child in his nice car because he couldn’t hold, it and he’s so embarrassed he could die.

when he finally gathers the strength to look over at brian, brian gives him a small, supportive smile. “it’s okay,” he tells him again.

“i’m sorry,” roger says anyway.

brian shakes his head. “don’t be.”

roger breathes in shakily, quickly wiping tears from his cheeks. “please don’t… tell the others,” he says finally.

“of course,” brian says gently. “the traffic will clear soon and we’ll get you home and cleaned up okay? i’ll help you with the car.”

roger manages a small, watery smile. “thank you,” he whispers.

brian reaches over to take his hand, squeezing it. “of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk about piss w me on my [tumblr](https://starrydrowse.tumblr.com/) :^)


	13. johanna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the girls are making johanna hold it until they get home, but when they get stuck in traffic she just really can't wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, i write genderbend!
> 
> crossposted from my tumblr
> 
> based on the prompt:
> 
> _johanna and her girlfriends going shopping and them making her hold for the entire experience... cue car desperation as they hit traffic (i’m now horny for fem omo... blame 🐹 and finn )_

oh my god imagine her trying on clothes while she really has to pee 😳 the girls take her out to buy some new clothes and make her hold the whole time and poor jo is in the changing room squirming around while she’s trying on all these jeans and shirts and skirts the girls keep throwing over the door for her!! 

regina is a little shit disturber and brings johanna a pair of jeans she knows will be a little too small for her just so they cut into her bladder a little more. when johanna buttons them up she has to cross her legs and squirm around for a minute to make sure she doesn’t lose control right there in pants that aren’t even hers, before going out to show her girlfriends her outfit.

“gorgeous,” melina declares. “fucking showstopping.”

johannas cheeks feel warm, and she’s not sure if it’s from the compliment or from how badly she needs to go. “thanks mel,” she mumbles. she feels awkward standing there, completely still with her legs pressed together while they admire her clothes, but she’s worried if she moves her legs apart too much she might leak. thankfully, the girls seem to realize that johanna is reaching her limit, and they decide to start heading home. but not before buying some of the clothes, of course.

the line to check out is a mile long, and johanna squirms the whole time, as subtly as she can. she crosses one leg in front of the other and squeezes her thighs together, every so often bouncing on the balls of her feet. her bladder feels heavy and full, a sharp ache that’s impossible to ignore, and johanna has no idea how she’s going to make it home without wetting herself.

once they’re nearing the front of the line, she taps regina lightly on the shoulder. “reg?”

“hmm?”

johanna blushes. “do you think i could use the bathroom before we leave?” she asks quietly.

regina tries and fails to hide the smirk playing on her lips. “you have to go pretty bad, huh?”

johanna presses her lips together. she nods.

regina raises her eyebrows a little. “you know the rules lovey,” she says after a moment. “we told you to hold it until we get back home.”

johanna can’t help the soft, desperate sound she makes in the back of her throat. “but i really really have to go,” she whispers.

brianna, sweet as ever, gently takes johanna’s hand in hers. “you can do it jo,” she says softly. “it’s not that far, we’ll be home soon.”

johanna swallows, and to her horror she feels tears sting her eyes from the humiliation of denied. she blinks quickly. “okay,” she mumbles. “okay i’ll wait.”

regina leans in to kiss her cheek. “good girl.”

finally, they get to the counter and pay for the clothes, and the moment they’re finished johanna is making a beeline for the exit. of course they’d parked as far away from the entrance as humanly possible, and the walk across the parking lot seems never ending. finally, though, they make it back to the car, and johanna gets in the back seat along with regina.

in the privacy of their car, with just the four of them, johanna gives in and holds herself, shoving her hands between her legs and finally giving herself the pressure she desperately needs. she bends over in her seat, squeezing her eyes closed, willing the ache to subside just a little, just for a while longer. they’ll be home soon, she tells herself. then she’ll be able to pee, and everything will be okay.

except that they’ve only been on the road for about five minutes when they hit the rush hour traffic. cars are backed up for what looks like miles, at a complete standstill, and now johanna is starting to panic. she can’t remember the last time she was this desperate in public, and the fact that she’s stuck in the car, blocked in on either side by lanes of traffic, _really_ isn’t helping her anxiety.

“guys…” she says softly, squirming in her seat. 

“we’ll be home soon,” melina reassures her, glancing back from the passenger seat to look at johanna. “it’ll clear up.”

johanna bounces in her seat as another wave of desperation washes over her. she’s not sure if she can make it until the traffic clears. her cheeks are positively burning as she feels herself leak, her panties becoming damp. but she has to hold it. her girls told her she has to hold it until they get home.

except that she’s really, really close to having an accident right there in the backseat of their car. now that the floodgates have opened she can’t stop the leaks that wet her underwear every so often, finally starting to soak through to her jeans, and when johanna feels wetness under her hands where she holds herself she can’t help but let a few tears fall.

they’ve still barely moved, and regina glances over at her, barely bothering to try and hide the arousal on her face.

“reg,” johanna whispers, looking at her desperately. “i— i don’t think i can wait until home,” she admits, swallowing around the lump in her throat.

regina bites her lip. “are you gonna have an accident angel?” she asks, a little breathless.

johanna whines. “i don’t know, i— it _hurts,_ reg, what if i… what if i don’t make it?” she can’t stop squirming for a second, afraid that the moment she stops she might lose all control.

regina hums. “i dunno,” she says, “i guess you’d better try to hold it. ”

johanna whimpers.

brianna glances back in the rearview mirror. “alright?” she asks.

johanna bites her lip. “i’ll be fine,” she manages.

“if you can’t hold it,” brianna says softly, “that’s okay. the traffic is pretty bad, i dunno how long it’ll be til home—”

melina elbows brianna lightly, cutting her off. she turns around in her seat to look at johanna, taking in the sight of her, squirmy and teary-eyed in her seat. melina’s cheeks are flushed and she sounds breathy when she says firmly “you can hold it jo. we won’t have you making a mess of the car just because you couldn’t wait.”

johanna feels another spurt leave her, and she hopes to god it’s not getting on the seat. 

she knows she won’t make it home. in fact, they all know she won’t make it home, and that’s part of what makes it so hot. because as much as it hurts, the desperation is also kind of making her skin tingle with how good it feels. heat pools low in her stomach at the feeling of being so close to losing it in front of her girlfriends, being told no time and time again.

she manages to hold on for longer than she thought she could. she makes it until the traffic is cleared, until they’re finally, _finally,_ driving properly, and they’re probably less than 10 minutes away from home before she realizes she’s about to lose what little control she has left. her jeans are wet under her hands and under her ass from the leaks, and then suddenly it’s not just leaks, it’s a stream, warm and wet and soaking her underwear. johanna gasps, doubling over in her seat.

“guys…” she manages, looking at regina with tears in her eyes. regina, immediately tuned in to what’s happening, bites her lip, incredible unsubtle about just how much this is affecting her.

johanna is so full, so desperate, and she just can’t wait any longer. she has to let go, she has to, she just can’t hold it anymore. her bladder gives out and then she’s wetting herself, right there on the carseat. regina knows right away, if her sharp intake of breath is anything to go by, and johanna wines, squeezing her eyes shut and trying uselessly to cut off the stream, to no avail. melina turns around to look back, and johanna hears a breath of “fuck,” muttered under her breath.

“i’m sorry,” she whispers, feeling the hot stream quickly soaking the denim of her trousers. “i’m sorry, i just couldn’t wait.” if she listens she can hear the soft hiss as her bladder empties onto the seat, and she chokes back a sob.

“jo…” regina murmurs. “look at you baby, you’re making such a mess.”

“i’m sorry,” johanna whimpers again.

“we told you to hold it babygirl,” melina says.

“i know,” johanna whines. “i couldn’t.”

“holy shit,” she hears brianna mutter, sneaking a glance back in the rearview. finally johanna’s bladder is empty, and all she can do is sit there, bright red, in a puddle of her own pee. it’s dripping off the seat, onto the floor of the car, and she can’t help the tears running down her face. she tries hastily to wipe them away, but they just keep coming.

“hey,” brianna says softly. “you did your best angel. it’s not your fault you couldn’t hold it.”

johanna swallows hard.

“you know you broke the rules though, right?” regina asks gently, laying a hand on her thigh. “do you know what that means?”

johanna lets out a shuddery breath. “it means i’ll be punished,” she says. the humiliation makes her skin heat up, embarrassment curling in her chest and burning white hot in the pit of her stomach, and suddenly all she can think of his how badly she needs her girlfriends’ hands on her.

melina grins back at her is as wicked and mischievous as johanna’s ever seen it. “good girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk about piss w me on my [tumblr](https://starrydrowse.tumblr.com/) :^)


	14. john

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> john pisses himself in freddie's lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crossposted from my tumblr
> 
> based on the prompt:
> 
> _okay but John pissing himself in Freddie’s lap is a concept_

ok but just imagine john straddling freddie’s lap while he’s holding it! he’s got a knee on either side of freddie’s hips so his legs are spread and he’s just whining, trying so hard to hold on just a little longer. he’s not holding himself because freddie told him not to touch, so all he can do is bounce and squirm on freddie’s lap and tense up all his muscles to try to hold it but he just needs to go so bad!

freddie has a hand over john’s lower stomach, pushing gently at his bladder, and john squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead to freddie’s shoulder as he tries so hard not to lose control. he’s just so _full,_ his bladder is aching and he can’t stop thinking about how good it would feel to let go right there and wet himself. but freddie didn’t say he could go yet. so he holds it as long as he can, gasping and whining as freddie teases his poor, overfull bladder.

but it also feels so good to be so full— he loves the ache in his bladder, the way it hurts and the way it makes his skin tingle, how the desperation makes him so hard it almost distracts from the need. he presses his forehead to freddie’s, eyes still closed, breathing hard and focusing all his energy on holding in the ocean of pee inside him. freddie gently rubs his back, soothing, whispering soft words into his ear about how well he’s doing, what a good boy he is for holding it, at the same time he pushes at john’s bladder with the other hand, making him whimper. john feels the first few drops wet his underwear, and he clenches as hard as he can to keep the rest in.

“freddie,” he manages, his voice hoarse. “freddie i leaked.”

freddie moans under his breath. “are your knickers getting wet angel?” he asks.

john nods.

he has to swallow his own moan when freddie’s hips rock up of their own accord and he feels freddie’s hardness against his ass.

“fuck,” freddie mutters under his breath.

another wave of desperation washes over john, and his hands tighten in the fabric of freddie’s shirt as he tenses up.

“how much longer do i have to hold it?” he asks. it comes out a little whinier than he meant it to, and his cheeks feel warm.

“how much longer _can_ you hold it?” freddie counters, looking at him with those big, dark eyes.

“i dunno,” john says truthfully. “it really hurts freddie. i think i… i might wet myself.”

freddie curses, before leaning in to crush their lips together. john makes a soft sound of surprise before kissing freddie back, hard and needy, his hips rocking against freddie’s as he squirms rather frantically. it’s during the kiss that his control slips and he realizes he can feel his trousers getting warm and wet again. he breaks the kiss with a gasp, leaning back and looking down to see a wet patch on his nice bellbottoms. 

“freddie,” he breathes, needy and desperate, looking at him with panicked eyes. he knows he can’t hold it much longer.

freddie wets his lips. “go on then,” he says finally. “let go for me baby. let me see you make a mess.”

as soon as the words are out of his mouth, john is letting go. he lets go and feels his knickers immediately turning warm and wet, feels it soak through his trousers and onto freddie’s, and he can’t help but moan. the stream that leaves him is strong and unbroken and he’s wetting himself, full force, in his boyfriend’s lap. he loves this part maybe more than he loves the desperation— the release that he can feel in his bones, the relief of finally letting his bladder relax and empty right where he is, flooding his trousers. freddie is still rubbing his bad, looking at him with those eyes, his hips rocking slowly against john’s while john pisses himself all over the both of them.

“look so pretty like this darling,” freddie murmurs, the hand not on john’s back coming up to tuck his hair back behind his ear. “so fucking perfect for me.”

“feels so good fred,” john breathes, meeting freddie’s eyes, his cheeks flushed and his lips parted. “god, had to go so bad. feels so good.”

he kisses freddie again, just as his stream finally slows to a trickle. he kisses him long and hard and deep, his hips rutting against freddie’s, faster now. 

he’s so hard and now all he can think about is how badly he needs to cum. freddie cups his face and licks into his mouth, rocking against him almost frantically, matching his pace, until finally his hips stutter and he cums in his trousers with a gasp. john follows barely a moment later, making an even bigger mess of his knickers.

he’s breathing hard, his forehead pressed to freddie’s as he focuses on catching his breath. his wet trousers are starting to get cold now, but freddie is warm and solid underneath him, and john can’t help but wrap his arms around him and kiss him again. he’ll clean up in a minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk about piss w me on my [tumblr](https://starrydrowse.tumblr.com/) :^)


	15. maylor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> roger pisses on brian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crossposted from my tumblr
> 
> based on the prompt:
> 
> _could u write something about roger pissing on brian while hes sitting on the floor nd looking up at him like 🥺🥺🥺_

roger will never get tired of seeing brian like this, on his knees in front of him, so lovely and so eager. he gently cups brian’s cheek, looking him in the eye.

“are you sure sweetheart?” he asks, voice soft, slowly rubbing his thumb over brian’s cheekbone.

brian lays a hand over roger’s on his cheek, leaning into the touch. he closes his eyes for a long moment, and when he opens his eyes to look up at roger he looks as innocent and willing as roger has ever seen him.

“i’m sure,” he says. “i want it, rog. please.”

he looks fucking breathtaking like this, roger thinks; on his knees in front of him, completely naked, all pale skin and sharp angles and those big doe eyes that make roger’s mind go blank. brian is hard already, his dick red and leaking just from the anticipation, and roger really can’t help how endlessly endearing he finds that simple fact.

“tell me what you want angel,” he says.

brian’s cheeks are bright red with embarrassment and he has to swallow heavily before he can say, “i want you piss on me.” he sounds breathless already with how much he _wants_ and roger can’t help but bend to kiss him deeply, just for a moment. he pulls away when brian whines into his mouth, leaning back to look him in the eye. brian’s pupils are blown.

“please,” brian whispers.

and how could roger ever say no when his sweet boy asks so nicely?

“good boy,” he praises, and brian’s eyelashes flutter. “gonna piss all over you baby. gonna make a mess of you.”

brian lets out a shaky breath. roger carefully unbuttons his trousers and eases his cock free, curling a hand around himself. there’s a pink flush trailing down brian’s neck, down his chest, and roger grips his cock just a little tighter, his free hand smoothing over brian’s curls as he aims for brian’s chest, and then lets go.

the first splashes of his piss against brian’s skin have brian gasping out, arching into it. roger’s stream is hot and wet and it streams down brian’s bare chest, runs over his stomach in rivulettes and then pools on the floor. the sounds he’s making are unbelievable— all stuttering gasps and moans and hitches of breath as roger soaks him with it, directs his stream down to soak his cock with it. he’s looking up at roger with those wide, dark doe eyes, so innocent and trusting as he lets roger piss all over him, lets roger mark him in this way that’s so dirty and so primal and so unbelievably good.

roger aims higher, tightens his hand in brian’s hair to angle his head back, and only then do brian’s eyes finally close, to let roger piss on his face. he’ll never get tired of seeing the way his piss streams over brian’s face, runs down his neck, and he couldn’t stop murmuring praises if he tried; breathless whispers of “such a good boy for me bri,” and “doing so well for me angel” and “look so pretty like this.” he watches brian’s reactions hungrily, the slight raises his eyebrows and the way his lips part as his breath stutters.

roger strokes a hand down his cock as his stream slowly starts to taper off, taking a step closer to brian to make sure every last drop makes it onto his skin. it’s then that brian finally opens his eyes again, and they look almost glazed over with how deep he is into it, how much he loves being marked this way. he blinks up at roger with those fucking eyes and by the time roger’s stream has come to a stop he’s almost fully hard.

“cum on me,” brian says suddenly, hoarse. “cum on me. wanna feel it.”

roger’s breath hitches. “fuck,” he mutters, and he doesn’t have to be told twice. he tightens his fist around his cock and strokes himself quickly, and he’d be taken aback by how close he is so quickly if brian wasn’t sitting on his knees on the floor in front of him _like that,_ covered in his piss and breathing shallowly, and it’s barely a minute later that roger cums with a groan, ropes of white landing on brian’s face and his neck and his tongue where he opened his mouth without even having to be asked.

he looks an utter wreck, covered in roger’s piss and cum, so fucking beautiful he takes roger’s breath away. roger lets himself sink to his knees and reaches to take brian’s cock in his hand, and it barely takes five strokes before brian is moaning, high and broken, spilling into roger’s fist. 

he’s still dazed when he comes down from it, boneless and exhausted, and roger puts him in the shower, washes him clean and gets him dressed into something warm and comfortable. “you did so well for me bri,” he tells him later, when they’re both clean and warm, curled together in their bed. “my perfect boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk about piss w me on my [tumblr](https://starrydrowse.tumblr.com) :^)
> 
> also, please stop asking me to write more freddie!! i'm very particular with the freddie stuff that i write and to be completely honest i just prefer writing for the others ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ there will be more freddie stuff eventually, i promise, but please stop asking.


	16. john

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> john is too shy to ask for a bathroom break during practice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crossposted from my tumblr
> 
> based on the prompt:
> 
> _During one of the first practices John gets wayyy too shy to interrupt & ask to go to the bathroom n he ends up pissing himself 😳_

john squirms in his seat for what feels like the millionth time in the last hour. his bladder is a heavy weight low in his abdomen, long since past the point of being just an uncomfortable ache and well on the way to becoming distractingly full. the need is steadily intensifying, making it difficult to sit still, but john simply can’t bring himself to ask his bandmates if they can take a break.

they’ve been workshopping a new song for the last hour, hashing out lyrics and rhythm, all crowded around a small table in their cramped practice room at the college. he’s still new to the band, still finding his footing, and he just— he can’t stomach the embarrassment of needing to ask for a bathroom break. he’s not a baby, he can wait. so he just sits, squirming as subtly as he can, giving input when it’s asked of him and hoping that his bandmates decide to to take a break soon.

an hour later and john has had no such luck. it’s getting bad now. it’s getting really bad. his boxers are beginning to feel damp and his bladder feels rather like it’s on fire with how full it is and he can hardly think of anything except how badly he needs to pee. his bladder throbs and he finds himself needing to squirm in his seat just to stop himself from leaking.

he _needs_ to go. he needs to go _now_. 

but he can’t.

he _can’t_. his bladder lurches again and, oh, oh no, there’s definitely wetness now— just a little, the tiniest spot on his knickers at the the tip of his dick, but still he feels panic bubbling up inside him as he realizes that, oh _god,_ it might be too late. to his horror, hot tears begin to sting his eyes. he blinks them back quickly.

it happens again and, oh, god. what if he wets himself? what if he wets himself like a baby in front of his new friends, his bandmates, makes an absolute fool of himself— surely they’d be annoyed. they might even hate him. he might— god, what if they kick him out of the band? what if— no. _no._ he can hold it. he has to hold it. he doesn’t have a choice. he’ll wait. they’ll take a break soon— they’ll have to, right? surely he’s not the only one who needs the loo, or, or someone must be getting hungry, or just tired, or _something?_ right?

oh, god.

it’s bad. it’s really, really bad. he can feel it in the tip of his dick, trying to come out, and he clenches his muscles as tightly as he can, trying to hold on just a little longer.

he can’t. he can’t wait. his heart lurches inside his chest and suddenly he realizes that this is it. he’s out of time. it’s going to come out. he needs to go _now._

his metal chair scrapes loudly against the floor as he stands abruptly, his eyes wide and panicked. blood is rushing inside his ears and his heart is pounding in his chest and the other three are all staring at him in surprise, their mouths hanging open.

“we have to take a break,” john blurts out, “we— i-i have to— oh, no. nononono—.”

it’s too late. it’s coming out. it’s coming out.

there’s a sudden, hot gush of pee that wets his boxers. john whimpers, both hands shooting down between his legs. 

no. oh, no. not yet. not yet. hold it, please, john pleads with himself. it’s no use. he squeezes his prick desperately in his hands but he only manages to cut off the stream for a second or two before it happens again, longer this time. his trousers are starting to feel warm and wet under his hands.

his muscles start to relax. it doesn’t matter how hard he’s trying to stop it. piss spills into his underwear as tears begin to slip from his eyes, and brian and roger and freddie are all watching him, speechless, and he can’t stop. it’s coming out faster and faster and john feels almost sick with shame.

he’s wetting himself. he’s wetting himself in from of his bandmates, his new friends, and— oh _god._

his bladder lets go completely and john can’t hold back a harsh sob. it’s spilling through his fingers, streaking down his legs and wetting his trousers, splattering onto the floor. it’s awful. disgusting.

“i’m— i’m sorry,” john chokes frantically. “i’m sorry i d-didn’t mean to—”

it’s puddling at his feet, an ugly, yellow puddle spreading around him on the linoleum floor of the practice room.

freddie and roger and brian are exchanging shocked looks, unsure what to say, and john has to choke back another sob. 

they hate him. they hate him and they think he’s disgusting. an awful, disgusting baby who can’t even hold his pee. an awful, disgusting baby that they definitely should not be in a band with, shouldn’t be friends with—

“john, it’s… it’s okay,” roger says tentatively. john can’t bring himself to look at him. “it’s just an accident.”

john whimpers. it’s still coming, a strong and unbroken stream spilling down his legs, and john is doing everything he can to hold back the sobs wracking his body.

suddenly freddie stands, walking up to john quickly before tentatively resting his hand on john’s back, between his shoulder blades. john has to fight the urge to push him off, and, oh god, freddie is standing in his puddle, his shoes are getting wet, and john feels sick.

“hey,” freddie says softly. “hey. you’re alright. it’s alright john.”

it’s finally slowing down, john’s bladder is finally nearly empty as his stream begins to taper off. his ears are ringing and he feels like he’s burning up with shame.

“john,” freddie begins again. “listen to me john. it’s okay. look at me.”

john presses his lips together, blinking quickly to try to stop the tears from falling. when he finally looks up, freddie looks so concerned, so fucking genuine and worried that john wants to throw up.

“it’s okay,” freddie repeats.

“i’m sorry,” john manages, his voice thick and shaky. “i’m so sorry, i— i had to go but we were i-in the middle of writing a-and i didn’t want to interrupt o-or slow us down and i tried to hold it i promise i did, but i c-couldn’t—”

“i know,” freddie soothes, rubbing his hand slowly up and down john’s back. “i know, you didn’t mean to. that’s what an accident is darling. you don’t have to be embarrassed. it’s just us, we won’t judge you. right boys?”

“right,” brian confirms, at the same time roger nods.

john forces himself to take a deep breath through his nose, looking at freddie sadly. “i’m sorry,” he tries to say again, but freddie cuts him off.

“no. no more apologizing, alright? it’s okay.”

john swallows, and then nods.

freddie gives him a soft, gentle sort of smile.

“okay,” he says. “good. now, lets go get you cleaned up a little, okay? i have an extra pair of shorts in my bag that you can borrow, i think we’re about the same size. rog and bri will take care of the floor.”

john nods again, hastily wiping the tears off his cheeks even as more fall. “o-okay,” he manages. “thank you.”

freddie squeezes his shoulder, giving him that same, reassuring smile again. “no need to thank us love. that’s what friends are for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk about piss w me on my [tumblr](https://starrydrowse.tumblr.com) :^)


	17. john

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> roger makes john hold it on the way home from dinner. he doesn't quite make it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crossposted from my tumblr
> 
> based on the prompts:
> 
> _could we maybe, mayhaps, get a little blurb of John pissing himself in the elevator, possibly_ and _aww Roger kissing all over John’s face after he couldn’t hold it and telling him he’s his good boy and John being a whinny shy boy_

“this is the last stop deaky, i _promise_,” roger grins, dragging john by the arm into a little hole-in-the-wall clothing shop.

“roger…” john complains, following him reluctantly— not that he has much of a choice what with roger’s death grip around his bicep and everything. “_please_ can we just go home? this is like the fifth store and you haven’t even bought anything.”

“we’re browsing,” roger waves him off, letting go of john’s arm to instead examine a silver shirt hanging on a rack, rubbing the silky material between his fingers. “this is nice, yeah?”

john barely hears him. all he can focus on is how full his bladder is, throbbing with every slight move he makes. the desperation is a constant ache low in his stomach that has him tensing up, has him crossing his legs as tightly as he can right there in the middle of the shop, and all he can do is hope and pray that no one is watching him.

no one except roger, that is, who’s now looking at him with dark eyes roaming slowly over his body, gaze heavy. john does his best not to squirm.

“is it bad?” roger asks quietly. the question makes the tips of john’s ears turn warm. he doesn’t bother trying to lie.

“i… yeah. i really need to go rog…” he bites his lip. “can we _please_ go home?”

roger frowns, but there’s something bright behind his eyes. “but i’m shopping!”

john sighs, and does his best not to squirm when a wave of desperation washes over him, his bladder twitching violently. his boxers already feel damp and his heart is in his throat as he wills the urge to pass, his cheeks burning.

“roger,” he tries again, and his voice comes out unsteady. “i dunno if i can….. just…. please, rog.”

roger eyes him carefully, his gaze softening as he seems to realize that john is serious.

“alright,” he says finally, letting go of the shirt and grabbing john’s hand instead. john squeezes tightly. “lets go home then.”

luckily, they’re only about a five minute walk away from their flat, but as the seconds tick by john starts to seriously doubt he’ll even be able to hold on that long. every step feels like a sharp jolt to his bladder, every slight movement makes him feel like he might lose it and piss himself on the sidewalk right then and there, in front of god and everybody. he takes small, careful steps, comforted by roger’s hand on the small of his back, guiding him forward.

the second their building comes into view, john’s bladder spasms violently, making him gasp and stop in his tracks, hands shooting between his legs in a frantic attempt to stop himself from losing control. his face burns in mortification, utterly humiliated to be holding himself like this right out in public. he can’t help it though— his bladder feels rather like it’s on fire, the desperation almost making him shake with how badly he needs to let go, and even with his hands between his legs he can’t help that he leaks; not much, but enough that he can feel it under his hands, enough to show on his light-coloured jeans.

“you alright?” roger asks, voice low and concerned, doing his best not to draw more attention to john.

john can only shake his head, standing as still as he can, fighting to stay in control. after half a minute he finally feels like he can move again, straightening up slowly, doing his best to cover his crotch with his hands. his cheeks are scarlet.

“come on,” he says tightly, starting to walk again, more quickly this time. he knows he doesn’t have much time left; he needs to get home. fast. he’s almost there, he can make it.

by the time they’re stepping into the lobby of their apartment building, john’s trousers are dark around the crotch from the leaks he couldn’t quite hold back and his eyes are stinging. it _hurts_, how badly he needs to go. he’s so full he feels like he’s going to burst.

they’re alone in the lobby waiting for the lift, and john takes the opportunity to cross his legs tightly, bending over with his hands shoved between his legs. he can’t quite stop the pitiful whine that leaves him when he leaks again; three seconds of overwhelming relief that streaks down his thighs before he manages to get it back under control.

roger’s hand is on his back, and john can distantly hear him uttering quiet encouragements— they’re so close, he’s just gotta make it upstairs, then he can go. just hold it another minute.

john can’t. he leaks again as he steps into the lift, and when he feels it dripping down his calf he can’t stop hot tears from spilling down his cheeks.

“oh john,” he hears roger murmur as the doors close in front of them.

“i’m sorry,” john chokes, “i’m sorry i’m trying to hold it i am—”

“i know honey,” roger coos, gently rubbing john’s back. “it’s alright. we’re so close now, just hang on.”

but it’s too late. john is leaking almost constantly, barely able to cut off the stream before it starts again. his jeans are already soaked down to the ankle, and when john hears it dripping onto the carpeted floor of the lift, it’s over.

“oh no,” he whispers miserably. it’s happening. he’s going. he can’t stop.

his stream grows stronger as he loses all control, and he can’t hold back a weak sob as he starts wetting himself helplessly, right there in the elevator, not 30 seconds away from their flat. it’s so warm, so humiliating, spilling down his legs and puddling on the carpet, and when roger speaks to him it sounds like it’s coming from underwater.

“oh deaky,” roger says gently, “it’s alright. you’re okay. it’s just an accident. just let it all out honey, that’s it.”

he leans forward to hit the stop button and the lift grinds to a halt. john is grateful; they were just about at their floor and he’s nowhere near finished.

“i’m sorry,” he manages, still trying desperately to stop, but it’s no use.

“it’s alright,” roger repeats, still rubbing soothing circles into john’s back. “it’s not your fault baby.”

when john is finally done he feels boneless and shaky from the relief. there’s not a dry spot left on his trousers, and he feels as humiliated as he ever has, standing there in a puddle of his own piss. he hangs his head, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes as he wills the tears to stop falling.

after a long moment, roger leans over to start the elevator again, and they continue to move upward for a few seconds before they reach their floor. the hallway is blessedly empty, and john pointedly doesn’t look at the wet footprints he leaves on the carpet as he follows roger to their flat.

the second they’re inside and the door is closed and locked, roger wraps his arms around john and squeezes him as tightly as he can. after a moment, john returns the hug, burying his face in roger’s neck, letting out a shaky breath.

“hey,” roger says gently, cupping john’s face and looking at him with kind eyes. “it’s okay love. you’re alright. i’m not mad or anything.”

john sniffles, looking at the ground, not quite able to bring himself to meet roger’s eyes. “i’m sorry,” he croaks.

“don’t be sorry,” roger tells him softly. “you didn’t mean to.” he brushes a few tears from john’s cheek with his thumb.

john steels himself, finally forcing his eyes up to look at roger sadly. “i was so close,” he whines. “i really thought i’d be able to hold it.”

“i know baby,” roger coos. “it’s okay, it wasn’t your fault.”

john frowns. “but i really wanted to hold it for you,” he complains quietly. “i… i wanted to be good.”

“you _were_ good,” roger says sincerely. “you did so good holding it for me deaks. you’re still my good boy.”

john blushes a shade pinker than he already is, his lips quirking up just slightly into a sad sort of smile. “i am?”

roger grins. “yeah, of course you are. you’ll always be my good boy. you’re always so perfect for me john.”

john’s smile gets a little bigger, and roger leans in to press their lips together. john sighs into the kiss, all but melting into roger, and roger can’t help but smile at john how sweet and lovely john is. when he pulls away he doesn’t go far before leaning back in to kiss john’s cheek, then his other cheek, then the tip of his nose. he peppers light kisses over john’s face— his eyelids, his chin, his forehead— until john is giggling, his smile wide and his eyes crinkled. when roger leans back, john looks at him with bright eyes, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth to try to suppress his smile.

“i love you,” roger reminds him.

john hums. “i love you too,” he whispers. “even when you make me piss myself in lifts.”

roger laughs. “you love me _especially_ when i make you piss yourself in lifts.”

john giggles, not bothering to deny it. instead he leans in to kiss roger again, humming softly against his lips.

“alright then,” roger says when they break apart. “i think it’s time for a shower.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk about piss w me on my [tumblr](https://starrydrowse.tumblr.com) :^)


End file.
